Even Darkness Must Pass
by Bertie Bott
Summary: Times are dark. What would a man do to save the woman he loves? What can Cedric Diggory do to protect Hermione Granger in the wake of devestation? Is it possible for there to be a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel?
1. Pictures and Memories

(A/N): After reading one Cedric/Hermione fic after another and despairing the lack of stories for this unique pairing, I've decided to put my money where my mouth is…The following fic is inspired by all of the CD/HG shorts I've read diligently for the past month, but mainly Minisinoo's _Finding himself_. After reading her novel, I can't seem to content myself with anything but Cedric and Hermione…Now, on to my story!

Disclaimer: I in no way own any of the recognizable characters from Harry Potter for the duration of this tale...no profit is being made and no infringement is intended. This disclaimer is applicable to this chapter and all those following.

_Even Darkness Must Pass_

_Chapter One_

The door loomed before him. It was of an average height and color. Seven feet tall, probably made of maple, with a redish brown tint to it. There was nothing remarkable about it. There were no markings that distinguished it from the one across the hall except for the golden number 21 that sat innocently above a small glass hole. A peep hole, it was called.

Gathering his courage, he raised a fist and knocked.

Silence. He knocked again.

There was a slight shuffling this time and before he could knock once more, the door swung open to reveal a surprisingly tall man. His height reached maybe a foot short of the door, but his shoulders were nearly as broad as the width of the frame. His brown hair was tousled as if he had been sleeping recently, and his clothes, a casual black robe thrown over a white button down shirt and black slacks, were wrinkled as though he had worn them for days.

His hazel eyes, even being puffy and red-rimmed, were sharp and pinned him firmly on the other side of the door. He was not welcome there.

"What do you want?" the man asked, his voice quiet but unyielding.

He shifted his weight. He would barrel past the young man if he needed to. "You know why I'm here, Longbottom."

Neville Longbottom narrowed his eyes in a surprisingly threatening manner. "She doesn't want any visitors right now. She won't see anyone."

"She'll see me."

"Why are you here?"

He felt some of his defiance fade as he recalled his purpose. "The same reason you're here, I imagine."

Neville, too, seemed to deflate as he remembered the circumstances. "She doesn't need anyone else right now. We're taking care of her."

The plural caught his attention and his quick eyes darted past Neville to scan the front living area. Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley were hovering behind a deep maroon sofa, eyes wide and curious. He should have known her little army would be called to arms. She was never short of people who cared for her.

He was proof to that testament. Here he was outnumbered three to one, facing two lions and an eagle, and he was still calculating his odds of stunning the lot of them just so he could see her.

"I'm sure you're taking good care of her," he said to humor them, his right hand fingering his wand. He would only use it if necessary.

Neville nodded and made to close the door.

He stuck an arm out. "But I'm still not leaving."

"Then enjoy sitting out in the hall."

"Neville," he hated that his voice took on a desperate, pleading tone. "Please, you know that things are different now. They'll come for her, Neville, you know they will."

Neville gritted his teeth. "She needs more than a protector. She needs her friends."

_Enough of this_, he decided, pushing past Neville and entering the flat at last. "You're not her only friends!" he shouted, patience snapping thin.

He regretted the outburst when he heard Ginny sob briefly, the sound rising up from her gut to be strangled in her throat. Neville glared accusingly at him as he went to her and threw an arm around her shaking shoulders. Luna joined their huddle, her wide luminous eyes filling with tears that spilled gently, rolling steadily down her cheeks.

It couldn't have been anymore obvious that he was the outsider. He felt out of his league, like an intruder invading foreign territory. Mostly, he felt like an arse. How could he forget that she wasn't the only one in pain or danger? She wasn't the only one in mourning.

He looked away from the disheartened trio, ignoring the stab of jealousy that twisted his gut. At least they had each other. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his own sorrow choking his words. "I know it's not easy for you all right now, but maybe one more person to help is just what you need."

Neville sighed and did not meet his eyes as he whispered, "You'll find her in the second room on the right. I doubt she'll answer, though. She hasn't spoken to anyone since it happened."

He nodded his thanks. There were no words he could say, really, to make the situation any better. He doubted things would ever be better again.

He turned and walked through the living room, grimacing slightly at the pictures of her and them that littered the whole place. He'd been to their flat numerous times and it had always been a place of warmth and laughter. Pictures of them and of their families were on every wall and it made one feel literally surrounded by love.

But there was no joy to be found in the smiling pictures tonight. He did not feel any warmth as he passed a picture of them, this time with him in it, smiling and laughing.

He came to a stop in front of the second door on the right. It wasn't her bedroom, but the one the other two had shared. He never understood why they had chosen a two bedroom flat when there were three of them and they had enough money to buy all of Diagon Alley. The flat itself was rather large, but it was extremely modest. There was nothing in the two bedroom, one bathroom flat that bespoke of the fame and notoriety of its occupants.

But it had always radiated warmth and that sense of home. It was never just a flat, a place where they went only to avoid the streets. It had been their haven, a place to escape the pressure of life and war. He had come over at least once a month to have dinner with them, and each visit had dragged at his feet when it came time to take his leave.

The door loomed before him. He rapped lightly on the white frame.

There was no answer, just as Neville predicted, but he did not wait for one this time.

He entered the room quickly, before he lost the nerve, and was momentarily blinded by the brightness. He had expected her to be sitting in the dark, but it seemed every light in the room was on.

The first thing he noticed was the color orange. There were orange banners, orange posters and streamers. Even she was wearing orange. She sat huddled over a desk wearing a large, baggy Chuddley Cannons shirt and white socks. He colored slightly when he saw the creamy skin of her thigh and realized she wasn't wearing anything else. Just an overly large Cannons shirt and white socks.

He looked away from her and her thigh. The room was swathed in Quidditch posters, mostly of the Cannons, although he saw some with the crimson colors of Oliver Wood's team. There were two, large beds on either side of the desk, the one on the left was neatly made whereas the one on the right was covered in old, and if his nose was to be believed, dirty clothes.

There were pictures in here, like everywhere else, and not just of Quidditch players. There was a blown up photo of the three of them in their graduation robes, smiling and waving at him, and another one of them in their Auror robes, their smiles less bright than before, but present nonetheless.

"Go away, I'm busy," she mumbled without looking up from her desk where she appeared to be scribbling furiously.

He cleared his throat. "Granger."

She froze instantly. There was a beat of silence before she slowly sat her quill down and turned to face him.

"Diggory," she greeted in turn, her voice flat but not very surprised.

Cedric Diggory studied her rather pathetic appearance. Her once bright eyes were dull as they stared at him, a flat brown color. Her hair was uncontrollable as ever, but was restrained slightly by an elastic band that secured the long frizzy locks up high. Purple circles underscored her listless eyes and he could tell by looking at her that she hadn't slept or eaten for days.

This was not Hermione Granger, he realized. Not anymore. Something had happened that night three days ago. She had seen something that changed her. She wasn't the bright know-it-all he had enjoyed teasing just to see her cheeks heat up in a rosy blush and her eyes flash dangerously. She had always been spit and fire and now all that was left was smoke and ash.

Cedric was even more concerned.

"What happened?"

She cocked her head slightly and frowned as though confused. "Don't you read the _Prophet_?"

Cedric looked at her in disbelief. "The _Daily Prophet_ is rubbish, Hermione. You know I don't trust it."

She smiled vaguely, her pale pink lips curving slightly in a parody of her usually friendly grin. "They've got it right this time, though. Haven't they? Harry and Ron are-" she cut off, her throat swallowing the word.

But he still heard it. It hung in the air between them.

_Dead_. Harry and Ron were dead.

"Hermione, what happened?" he repeated, his voice achingly soft as he fought his own sorrow.

She sighed. "What's there to explain, Cedric?"

He moved closer to her, forgetting his earlier discomfort about her lack of dress. "I don't understand, Mine. How did this happen? This wasn't supposed to happen!"

She flinched at his nickname for her. He came up with it during her seventh year when they really started to become good friends. No one but Ron and Harry would ever get away with calling her Mione, even though Cedric had thought it very endearing. Her-mi-on-e was a mouthful, no matter how well it suited her personality, and since Mione was only reserved for her two best friends, Cedric had decided to drop the 'o' and called her Mine.

He was sure she'd reject such a playful but possessive nickname, but she had surprised him (as she often did) by smiling in amusement as he explained his logic.

And, he thought with more than a little smugness, no one else (not even Ron or Harry) could get away with calling her Mine.

"I don't know what to say."

She refused to look at him and was playing self-consciously with the hem of her Cannons shirt. It had ridden up slightly and rested innocently half-way up her thigh.

"Anything," he pleaded. "Say anything."

A rush of air passed through her parted lips. "There's nothing left to say. Go home, Cedric. I'm busy." She turned back to the desk and picked up her quill to continue writing.

Cedric stared at her back and remained unmoving. How could she dismiss him like that, as if he was nothing more than an afterthought? How could she sit passively, unconcerned that everyone in their world was talking about her? She had been the only one with them, after all, the only one to witness the horrible tragedy.

And she wasn't talking.

Not that he blamed her. He wouldn't want to relive what must have been a horrifying, scarring night, but people were talking. There was a cloak of mystery around the whole events of that evening. What had they been doing at that dilapidated muggle orphanage in London? Why didn't they alert anyone, or arrange for backup? Why had Death Eaters been there?

How did Ron Weasley and Harry Potter die?

"I'm not going anywhere, Mine," he stated quietly, but firmly. "Not until you tell me what happened."

"You'll be staying indefinitely then. Ginny and Luna have been using my room. Neville has been sleeping on the couch. You can stay in here with me if you like. I've been using Harry's bed; he washes his sheets more often. You can sleep in Ron's."

He looked at her incredulously. "How can you talk like that? How can you casually sit there as though nothing happened? Harry and Ron are _dead_, Hermione! _They're_ _dead_!"

"I know that!" she shouted abruptly, slamming her palms flat down onto the desk, making the inkwell jump dangerously. "Why does everyone insist on pointing that out? Don't you think I know that? I was there! I know that they're gone and not coming back! Why do you have to rub it in my face? _Why can't you all just leave me alone?_"

Cedric jumped as she pounded the desk again. A part of him was relieved to finally see some sign that she was in pain, too. That she wasn't unaffected by the death of her friends. The other part, however, felt like a heel. Of course she was in pain, how could she not be? She, Ron, and Harry had been inseparable since Halloween their first year. Even he, two years their senior and in a different house, had known that. Where there was one, the other two weren't far behind.

But now there was just her. One third of a golden trio, she looked wrong without them beside her. He almost couldn't recognize her without Harry holding her hand or Ron's arm casually thrown around her shoulder. She looked smaller by herself, deflated as if Harry and Ron had taken her with them even though her body remained.

It scared Cedric. Death had always been trivial to him in his youth. He'd heard about the stories of the first war, stories about the green death and murder. But in his youthful arrogance he had been so certain that it would never happen to _him_. That sort of thing would never happen to him.

How wrong he had been, so foolish. The Triwizard Tournament had seemed like a lark at first, something that would restore honor to the Hufflepuff name. They weren't weak because they were able to build loyal friendships and depend on one and other. He wanted to win the house cup for his mates so that never again he would feel the need to apologize when he told people which house he was in.

"A smart lad like you in Hufflepuff? How odd!" his father's Ministry friends always said.

There was nothing odd about it, he wanted to scream. The hat sorted students based on their most predominant characteristics, not the only ones. Hufflepuffs could be fierce when loyalty demanded they defend a friend in need. They could be sneaky in order to do the right thing. And even if all the odds were stacked against them, badgers would fight bravely to the bitter end when cornered.

Cedric had seen the Triwizard Tournament as his opportunity to prove that, although it had been Cedric's housemates who pushed him to enter. He remembered going into the Great Hall, his sweaty palm tightly clutching the slip of parchment with his name and school neatly scrawled on it. He'd underestimated his popularity, apparently, for it wasn't only his housemates pushing him forward with good natured ribbing. The three of them had been there, Ron and Harry smiling nervously at him and Hermione sitting in between them with her nose stuck in some book. He hadn't paid them too much mind other than to think that they were an oddly matched trio.

But then Harry came into the champion's room after him, his bright green eyes wide and confused. A fourth champion. Suddenly, Cedric was very curious.

At first he was sure Harry had put his name in the goblet, as a prank though, and not as a glory hog. He hadn't planned on actually being selected, but Cedric hadn't really seen him as competition. The Boy-Who-Lived he may be, but he was still only a fourth year. Cedric resolved to ignore his presence.

That was until Harry told him about the dragons, and Cedric was sure something was not quite right. Things were rarely what they seemed to be in the Wizarding World, after all. He snuck around, determined to find out what was really going on, and had come across Harry and Hermione desperately practicing summoning charms. Ron was nowhere to be seen and Cedric belatedly realized that the inseparable trio hadn't been so inseparable lately. But if Ron was mad at Harry for being in the tournament, and if Hermione was acting like Harry's very life depended on mastering a simple charm, then this was no prank gone awry.

Harry _hadn't_ put his name in the cup.

Cedric had always taken his prefect duties seriously, and he decided that making sure Harry Potter survived the year was not only his duty as an older, wiser student, but also the right thing to do.

So Cedric had returned the favor and gave Harry the tip about the egg. At the bottom of the Black Lake he'd seen Harry hovering before his two friends, obviously knowing Ron was his to save, but unwilling to leave Hermione regardless. He tapped his watch with his wand to warn him of the time before collecting Cho and heading to the surface.

He'd made it his personal goal to save Harry, but during the third task, Harry saved him- twice. He still had nightmares about that maze. Not the creatures in it, for the maze had been so much more than that.

"The maze changes people," Dumbledore had solemnly warned. "Oh, find the cup if you will, but be very careful you don't lose yourself along the way."

He was right. The maze changed Cedric. It showed him a side of himself he'd never known existed. And Cedric did not like what he saw, because even though he had vowed to look out for Harry, the fact remained that at the first glimmer of the trophy, Cedric had violently shoved the smaller boy to the ground.

But Harry Potter had turned back from the trophy to save him. Harry chose to do the right thing. The tournament no longer was about Hufflepuff's glory and Cedric knew exactly what he had to do.

"Take it. You saved me! Go on and take it!"

It shamed him that even though he was sure he was doing the right thing he still could not keep the resentment out of his voice.

"Together," Harry had countered. "It will be a Hogwarts victory."

They'd argued more, but when it came down to it they both wanted to simultaneously win but have the other win as well.

Cedric settled for the tie.

"1-2-3!"

They grabbed the cup at the same time, and Cedric immediately knew something was wrong. He didn't remember much of his night in the graveyard other than a streak of green coming towards him and Harry pushing him out of harm's way. He'd hit his head on the edge of Tom Riddle's tombstone, losing consciousness instantly.

When he later awoke, he was still on his back and in the graveyard. The first thing that registered across his mind was the smell and feel of grass. He twisted his neck and his head swam and his vision blurred with black spots. Fighting off the darkness, Cedric sat up and looked around for Harry.

And saw him locked into a stand still with the Dark Lord. At least, Cedric assumed it was Lord Voldemort. Honestly, it couldn't be anyone else. He was tall, much taller than himself, and thin. His skin was pallid, an unhealthy gray color. There were two slits where his nose should have been and he looked like someone had crossed man and snake into one being. But what really struck Cedric were his eyes. Two glowing red orbs pierced Harry, but the younger boy seemed not to notice for he was intently focusing on the golden white connection between the two wands.

Pain and shame warred within him. He'd been unconscious while Harry Potter fought the Dark Lord. In fact, had Harry not pushed him out of the way Cedric wouldn't have woken up at all.

It was time to return the favor.

"Harry, now!" he shouted.

No one had given the unconscious boy a second thought when they arrived, and with the element of surprise on his side, Cedric surged to his feet, his head pounding and his vision tilting dangerously, and called out for Harry.

Their eyes locked and Harry, such a bright lad, Cedric reflected later that evening, nodded.

He broke the connection at the same time Cedric yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_"

The Dark Lord's wand soared through the air in slow motion.

_Bugger all, I just disarmed the Dark Lord!_

There was no time to digest that fact because Harry was running to him and summoning the cup and with a blinding flash they left the graveyard and landed with a painful thump back on Hogwarts grounds.

He could vaguely hear Harry shouting and music blaring, but he couldn't focus on anything until a face hovered above his and small, soft hands slapped at his cheeks.

"Cedric, are you alright? Look at me!"

The tone was so bossy there was no way he could disobey even if he wanted to. Dutifully he opened his eyes and stared into the face of what he thought at the time was an angel. Hindsight made him realize it was Hermione Granger taking control of the situation, and making sure he was alright.

"Are you an angel?" he'd asked, his mind drowsy and befuddled.

She rolled her eyes. "I most certainly am not," she'd replied in her best no-nonsense tone. "You'll be fine, Cedric. We'll get you to Madam Pomfrey."

And he was fine, physically. She saw to it that he made it to the Hospital Wing and was healed within two days with nothing but the faintest scar on his forehead, not nearly as recognizable as Harry's infamous lightening bolt, but it receded into his hairline above his left eyebrow and was visible enough to those who knew where to look. But mentally, that was another story.

Cho acted like nothing happened, like Cedric had not nearly died. Her presence became suffocating and he began to resent her lack of understanding. Hermione didn't push him or Harry when she visited them in the Hospital Wing, so why couldn't Cho be more like her? Their relationship became so strained that he was forced to break it off. He'd always known they'd never get married, but she had been a nice distraction at the time.

But with the death of some friendships, Cedric found strength in others. He and Harry became thick as thieves, and by extension, that made him friends with Ron and Hermione. He and Ron could talk Quidditch until the early morning, but it was Hermione he really connected with. She was always so fierce and passionate in their debates and in her defense of her friends and house elves alike. He often found himself dumbstruck at her amazing capacity to care for others.

Cedric found himself smiling at her longer than necessary, giving her second glances.

Harry and Ron constantly ribbed him about it.

"Tell 'er you love 'er, mate. Put yerself out of yer misery!" Ron crowed.

They downed another shot of firewhiskey.

"Who said anything 'bout love?" he slurred.

Harry glared menacingly. "It better be love. I ain't gonna sit by if ya wanna shag 'er an' leave 'er!"

Cedric swallowed another shot. "I'd never!"

"Yeah, mate, Diggory ain't got it in 'im tah treat a bird like dat," Ron agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

"What is this?"

The three of them turned to see Hermione Granger standing in the entryway of the kitchen, hands on her hips and glaring.

"Mione! Want some?" Ron boomed, holding out a shot to her that sloshed dangerously.

Her glare intensified. "You two, get to bed. Now!" Ron and Harry staggered to their feet, knowing better than to argue with her when she used that particular do-as-I-say-or-else tone.

Cedric grinned. "Hiya, Mine! Don't you wanna take me tah bed, too?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Diggory. What am I to do with you?"

"Take me to bed and shag me rotten?"

Hermione huffed. "It's to the couch with you. As often as you come here we ought to have gotten three bedrooms. You boys will drive me into an early grave. I know it!"

Always to the couch and never to her bed, he thought sadly. Cedric shook his head and dispelled the memories. He loved to flirt with her and get her flustered, but whenever she reciprocated he could never tell if she meant it or was only teasing. It helped knowing that Harry and Ron were rooting for him. They played the role of overbearing overprotective brothers so well that even though Cedric was firmly benched for the game, he could rest assured that he would receive no real competition when Hermione called him in.

At Ministry dinners and balls, Cedric found himself to be Hermione's default date, and while manners dictated she dance with certain stuffy politicians when they asked, Harry and Ron did an excellent job of frightening the more exuberant suitors away. Two thirds of the most successful Auror team in their history, they were quite fearsome when they wanted to be. They'd hover on either side of her, frowning at any young lad bold enough to approach her. They never spoke to the wizards attempting to woo their friend, only glared, but Cedric was convinced their silence was far more terrifying than anything they could say.

Just three weeks ago they'd gone to a charity gala thrown by the Ministry in an attempt to prove that there was still some normalcy even with Voldemort returned. They'd been obligated to go, and even if it was being thrown for the wrong reasons, Hermione still pointed out that proceeds would be going to a good cause. Cedric found himself to be her default escort once again. Harry and Ron always went stag, but Hermione liked using Cedric as an excuse to decline dances or unnecessary escorts.

"So sorry, I've come here with someone already," she'd demur.

Later they'd go back to the flat and brilliant but naive Hermione would always joke and laugh about how people would try to get close to her in order to meet the famous Harry Potter. He'd share a look with Harry and Ron. They all knew that Harry was probably the last thing any wizard was thinking about when Hermione Granger was in front of them, smiling and laughing in her evening gown finery.

That had only been three weeks ago. Three days ago, he'd gotten a letter from Remus Lupin that merely read:

_Cedric-_

_Harry and Ron are dead. Check on Hermione._

_-Remus_

Dead was a terrible word. There was something infinitely final about the way Remus had put it, so very matter-of-fact. Harry and Ron are dead- _fact_, (You will) check on Hermione- _fact_.

Then the rumors started. A traitor, most were calling her, but not publicly. It was all very hush-hush still. No one dared accuse her without proof, of which there was none since she had been the only other person present at the time of their deaths and she certainly wasn't talking.

Instead, she was sitting at a desk and writing.

"Hermione, stop. Get some rest now," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"I can't stop. There's not enough time for rest," she said distractedly, her hand never pausing in her writing.

"Just go to sleep. Everything will be fine when you wake up, I'll see to it."

They both knew he was lying.

"I can't, Cedric. I have to finish it."

He blinked. "Finish what, Mine?"

She huffed and even though he couldn't see her face, Cedric knew she'd rolled her eyes. It was a terrible habit of hers. "Voldemort's still out there."

"Hermione!" he said loudly. "For Merlin's sake, no one expects you to keep fighting!"

"Well they should!" she countered, looking at him again. "Just because they're gone doesn't mean he'll stop. You're a fool if you think that, Cedric."

"Leave it to someone else."

She snorted. "Who else is there?"

She was right. She always was. No one else knew about the horcruxes, Harry only told her, Ron, and Cedric. She and Cedric were all that was left.

"I'll help you," he offered desperately. "You can't do this alone."

Her words, which were spoken in a sorrow so deep Cedric couldn't even begin to fathom it, cut into him better than any well aimed slicing hex.

"I_ am _alone."

Cedric stared at her hunched back, the tears he'd been fighting for so long spilling down his cheeks. What could he do? What would any man do to save the woman he loved?

She'd said he could have Ron's bed. She'd offered to let him stay.

Cedric moved to the bed, shoving aside a pile of dirty socks and robes. His hands shook as he peeled away Ron's Quidditch jersey and he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed feeling as though he was intruding on a sacred burial ground.

"You are not alone," he whispered into the silence of the room.

The only response he received was the never-ending scratching of her quill on parchment.


	2. For Now

_EVEN DARKNESS MUST PASS_

_CHAPTER 2_

Cedric awoke without being aware he had even fallen asleep. As his eyes fluttered and his right foot twitched, the vestiges of a nightmare retreated, beaten back as dawn's light filtered through the cracks of the red and gold curtain. He frowned as a flash of green and a scream echoed in his mind, but when his eyes opened, he recalled nothing.

He laid there, content to breathe. His breaths were slow, his mind curiously blank, and when he stretched, he heard the clinking of silverware. He twisted and his right leg curled behind his left as he used his big toe to scratch his ankle. When did he take off his shoes? The last thing he remembered was reclining back onto the bed, his droopy eyes focusing on Hermione as she wrote, hunched over the desk in a position he knew would have her neck aching for hours. He was only going to rest his eyes for a minute, he told himself. One minute wouldn't hurt, right?

Right, Cedric snorted to himself. The clinking of silverware caught his attention again and he turned his head to see a serving tray filled with two slices of toast, two eggs over easy, and a glass of orange juice.

"Eat up, I know you're hungry."

Cedric jerked into a sitting position. Hermione was no longer at the desk but was pacing the cluttered area between the two beds, a book in one hand as the other idly twirled a stray lock from her ponytail. She no longer wore an overly large cannons shirt, but had donned a pair of jeans and a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey. When she whirled away from him, he saw the name POTTER in bold letters running across her back, her hair brushing against it as she paced.

"Why are you wearing that?" he asked. First Ron's shirt, now Harry's. He'd always been slightly jealous about her closeness with the two boys, regardless of their plutonic relationship and she seemed to have an affinity with wearing their clothes.

"I had to change, I was starting to smell," she said, her eyes never ceasing their race across her current page. She stopped, turned the page, and then continued pacing.

Cedric dropped it. There was no point in pursuing the matter now, and there was no sense in being jealous. Not anymore.

His eyes went back to the breakfast sitting beside him. "Did you make this?"

Her eyes cut to him and he was rewarded with a slight twitching of her lips. Hope fluttered in his chest, but soon died when she failed to smile. "No," she said, "I didn't so it's safe to eat."

She was a terrible cook. He'd been over for supper one Saturday when it was Hermione's turn to cook and hadn't been able to recover his taste buds since.

"Why do you let her cook at all?" he'd whispered to Harry, his nose wrinkling as he used his fork to poke his burnt- was it lasagna? He couldn't even tell.

Harry shook his head sadly. "Look at her," he merely said.

Cedric cocked his head and looked at her. She was staring at them expectantly, her eyes anxious and a large, uncertain smile across her face. There was a smear of red sauce on her right cheek and her clothes were wrinkled. She bit her lower lip. "Well?" she asked.

Ron tucked in. "Is good, Mione. Best dish yet," he grumbled between mouthfuls.

She didn't seem to notice that Ron's smile was more of a grimace and he was swallowing quickly enough to not taste anything. Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Ronald, don't speak with your mouth full," she said. Her eyes shifted back to him and Harry. "Well?" she asked again, eyes wide and nervous.

Harry smiled. "It's perfect. Diggory's already talking about seconds."

Cedric shot him a glare, but when Hermione beamed at him, he decided he could stomach the imitation of lasagna- or was it enchiladas?- if she continued to look at him like she was about two seconds from jumping him.

"Best I've ever tasted," he said numbly. His eyes couldn't help but focus on her lips as her smile grew even larger.

Harry stifled a laugh and Ron almost choked in his race to finish dinner as quickly as possible.

"I'm glad you think so," she said. "I made plenty for you to take home. I'll make you a box. You eat far too much takeout, Diggory, and it'll be good for you to have a home cooked meal for a couple nights."

Cedric smiled. "Brilliant," he said. His eyes followed her as she got up from the table and began filling bowls of food. He'd take the leftovers home with him; in fact, he may even eat them if it gave him a chance with her.

He cleared his throat as Harry and Ron's muted laughter died in his head. He took a sip of his orange juice. "You're a good cook," he said unconvincingly.

She snorted, but did not reply.

He ate a few bites, the silence stretching between them until he felt choked by it and had to break it. "Did you eat?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want some?"

Another negative shake.

Cedric narrowed his eyes on her. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Before," she murmured.

Cedric's eyes bugged out. "Before, Hermione? Before what?" he asked, hoping he misunderstood her and she was not telling him she'd been starving herself since Harry and Ron's deaths.

"An hour or so before we left for the orphanage," she told him.

Cedric clenched his teeth and slowly counted to ten. "Sit down, Mine. Sit and eat," his voice was tight and filled with steel.

Her pacing stopped and she looked up from her book, recognizing the signs of his growing temper. She frowned at his plate of food. "I'm not hungry," she said quietly. "It all tastes like ash now anyway."

His anger fled. She always could rile him up quicker than anyone else, but she was also quickest to deflate his rage. "Don't worry about how it tastes," he told her gently. "Just eat it. Please Mine. Do it for me?"

Her eyes thinned as she looked at him and he knew that she was aware he'd phrased it like that on purpose. Hermione Ganger would rarely do things for herself, but she would do anything for a friend.

She grabbed a slice of toast, her hand striking out like a snake attacking a mouse. "I don't like eggs," she reminded him before taking a bite of the toast, chewing twenty times and then swallowing.

He smiled. "I know."

She grunted, but much to his relief, she continued to eat.

"What are you reading?" he asked as he stuck his fork into his eggs.

She lifted the book in answer so he could read the title. _Shedding Light onto the Dark Arts: a history of dark artifacts_. "You shouldn't be reading that, Hermione. That's dark, real dark."

She quirked a brow. "You don't say?" she mocked loftily.

"I'm being serious, Hermione. Where did you get that anyway? I thought Harry got rid of all the dark arts books from Grimmauld Place."

"Knockturn Alley, of course."

He choked on a yolk. "W-what?"

"Knockturn Alley," she repeated.

He felt his anger returning. "You have no business going there, Hermione. It's dangerous, don't you understand that?"

"You're just like them," she said softly like she was talking more to herself than him.

He snapped. "Stop, just stop, Hermione. Stop acting as if nothing happened. Stop being so cavalier with your own safety and pulling stunts like this. Going to Knockturn Alley! You won't live forever, don't you understand that? No one lives forever!"

She froze. "Of course I know that, Cedric. I'd have to be a fool not to, all things considered recently."

He was such an ass. She had to be painfully aware of people's mortality right now seeing as how Harry and Ron were dead. Despite that, he was still angry. She was always taking unnecessary risks with her own life. Going to Knockturn Alley, becoming an Auror, hunting horcruxes instead of returning to school for her seventh year, and fighting Death Eaters every step of the way.

"Did you learn nothing then?" he hissed, a pang of guilt twisting in his chest. Cedric was so angry that he didn't even feel it and he didn't care if that made him an ass.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand, Diggory," she said, her eyes focused back onto her book. But they weren't moving any longer. She was merely staring at her page blankly, lost within her own mind.

And that angered him even more. She was retreating within herself and even though she was standing right before him, he knew she might as well have been in Australia at the moment. She was leaving him as she found solace in her own mind, and he stewed at the unfairness of it all. He was hurting too, didn't she see that? Why wouldn't she come down from her pedestal and hug him, comfort him? He was bleeding inside, bleeding for Ron and Harry, and bleeding for her. Couldn't she see that his heart was bleeding for her?

"You're not the only one who loved them," he said. "You're not the only one suffering."

She swallowed thickly. "I think you should leave."

"And I think I should stay."

"I don't care what you think," she shouted. "Get out! Get out!"

"No!" he screamed back, standing from the bed and crossing his arms stubbornly.

She was cracking right before his eyes. Thick, swollen tears rolled down her cheeks and her knuckles were white as she clutched her book to her chest. She clung to the leather bound pages like a drowning man clung to a preserver. "I have work to do," she heaved, her words wobbling as she struggled for control. "You're in my way."

"I don't care about your work. I'm not leaving." He'd show her. He could be just as stubborn as she.

"Then I will," she nearly snarled. She twirled on her foot, strode to the door, and flung it open, stomping out of the room. He followed her into the living room where Neville flew up and off the couch at Hermione's stormy entrance.

"Hermione!" he gasped.

She ignored him. Her fingers curled around the knob of the front door, but Cedric, hot on her heels, murmured a quick word and flicked his wand and it sealed shut.

Hermione struggled with the handle for nearly a minute before she spun around and fixed him with a glare full of red anger. Her brown eyes burned him, but he met her glare with a steely one of his own. Better she show anger than indifference.

"Let me out," she said.

"No," he said. "You can't leave."

"You are not my keeper."

"I've sworn to keep you safe, Mine. Even from yourself," he said.

She leaned against the door, pressing back into it like she couldn't get far enough away from him. When she spoke again, her voice was no longer angry, but quiet and sad. "I'm suffocating, Ced. Can't you see that I'm drowning?"

"Let me save you," his tone matched hers. "Let me take care of you, Mine."

She looked like she was on the verge of letting him. He could see her eyes soften noticeably as they bored into his, and for a moment, he thought he wasn't alone in his feelings. For a moment, he thought he could see love staring back at him.

"Mione?"

She flinched at the name, and just as quickly as he'd seen it, it was gone. It was Ginny who had spoken. Her eyes were puffy and swollen and she stood barefoot in front of the kitchen, staring at Hermione as if she were looking at a ghost.

"Did you come out to talk?"

Hermione shook her head, refusing to meet the redhead's eyes.

Ginny's eyes watered as she sniffled. "W-will you talk anyway?"

Hermione closed her eyes and her lips thinned. She shook her head again, more forcibly.

But Ginny ignored her. She padded across the room and she stared unblinkingly at Hermione, tears dropping from her eyes in a constant stream. "H-how did it happen? You have to tell me. I c-can't stop thinking about the ways it may have happened, each one more painful than the last. You have to tell me, Hermione! You have to!"

He could see Hermione's throat working painfully. She shook her head again.

"You can't keep silent. I deserve to know. My brother, Hermione! My brother and my boyfriend. Who was it? Who killed them? Was it the Dark Lord? Who?"

"Calm down, Ginny. You're frightening the nargles," Luna said as she glided into the room.

The crack widened. Hermione was shaking terribly, her lips trembling, her fingers twitching, and her eyelids blinking rapidly in an attempt to block her tears.

"Leave her alone," Cedric said. He moved to Hermione's side and glared at Ginny. Grieving or no, she had no right to talk to Hermione in such a way.

"No," Ginny cried. "We've left her alone long enough. We deserve an answer."

"This isn't the way to get it," Cedric growled. "Don't you see what you're doing to her?"

"Let's all calm down," Neville spoke timidly.

Hermione pushed off from the door and made to retreat back into the room, but in giving her back to them all, 'POTTER' written on the jersey stared at them like a slap in the face.

"Wh-what are you wearing?" Ginny spoke lowly.

Hermione froze.

"What are you wearing?" Ginny asked again.

Hermione's shoulders shook.

"You've no right, Hermione Granger. Take it off," Ginny's voice lost its sorrow and was now filled with a kindling fire that Cedric imagined would burn brighter than her hair.

"_I said take it off_!"

Hermione turned her head, but did not turn around. Cedric's eyes burned into her and he wondered what she could possibly be thinking about. He followed where her eyes were focused and his heart lurched when he saw a picture of her, Harry, and Ron hanging against the wall.

"Come on Diggory! Take the picture already!" Ron had moaned.

Cedric laughed. They were at the Three Broomsticks after visiting Fred and George's new Hogsmeade location for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Harry's hair was bright, neon green, Ron's a flashy purple, and Hermione's hair was a surprisingly becoming maroon. Weasley's Hair Turners, the twins had called the sweets. Cedric's own locks had turned electric blue after swallowing the candy.

They posed before him, their hair clashing terribly. Hermione was in the middle, each arm looped into one of theirs and her head leaning against Harry's shoulder. She smiled wide.

She had a gorgeous smile. Hermione was always warm and genuine in her pictures, even when she was posing. She was open and friendly. There was nothing fake about her smile even as she turned to a camera and said cheese. He had a picture of her and him from the same outing sitting on his nightstand next to his bed. Each morning he woke up to see him twirling her around as she laughed, her maroon hair swinging out and slapping his face.

But there was no smile for him today. Her eyes were sad, but guarded. She was no longer the bright and open girl in that photograph. He saw the truth in her eyes as she stared at the photo, the truth she'd been trying so hard to hide from him because she knew he was hurting enough as it was. She may have survived, but for all intents and purposes, she was dead too. Hermione Granger had died along with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Maybe that was why she wore their shirts. Maybe they brought her closer to her fallen brothers and brought her the comfort everyone had been trying to give her. The comfort only Harry and Ron could give her, but they were gone, and she had to rely on what they left behind. That was why she holed up in their room, surrounding herself with them, wearing their shirts, gazing at their pictures, and writing, always writing.

"I don't answer to you, Ginerva Weasley," Hermione turned from the photo and looked at Ginny.

"You have to answer to someone," the other girl cried.

Her voice lacked Hermione's hardness and Cedric knew then that Ginny would give up. She was giving up on Hermione. She looked at the older girl with pity, and maybe a little bit of hatred.

"It's your fault," she said. "You were the smart one; the brains. You had to have known it was a trap. Why didn't you save them?"

Ginny had always been piss and vinegar, but Cedric had never seen her be cruel before. Not until then.

"We have to save ourselves, Ginny," Hermione said cryptically.

"That's enough," Neville's voice was firm and brooked no refusal. "We have to stick together, now more than ever."

Hermione did not say anything. Instead, she turned back around and went into the room. Cedric made to follow her. He wouldn't stay out here with them. He would never look at Ginny Weasley the same way again, not after the pain Hermione had expertly hidden from them as Ginny's words sliced through her. But Cedric knew her better than that. He saw each wound Ginny tore open and rubbed salt in.

But when he tried to open the door, he found that she'd locked him out. He tried to spell it unlock, but there was no charm in his arsenal that would move the door. She'd probably used a spell of her own creation. Clever little witch.

He banged on the door, but she ignored him. He tried another spell. Nothing.

"You can shut them all out, Hermione Granger, but you will not shut me out! Do you hear me? You can't shut me out!"

He banged on the door until his fists were raw.

"It's no use," Neville came to him. "Leave it be."

He would do no such thing. He'd wait for now, but she'd let her guard down eventually and he would take his moment. He'd find a way to reach her even if it killed him.

"Be patient, Ced," Harry had always told him. "She's already in love with you so half the battle's done."

He'd shake his head. "That's half the battle?"

"Sure is, mate. Other half is waiting for her to figure it out," Ron would grin. "For such a smart bird, she can be slow on the uptake."

Harry would always smile when Ron ragged on Hermione, but he never joined in. Harry smiled and laughed at Ron's good-natured ribbing, but he was quick to stop his friend from crossing the line, not that Ron ever meant any real harm. Harry had always been rather protective of her, Cedric remembered. Ron had, too, but Harry more so.

"I can take care of myself!" was a popular phrase he would hear her say at least three times a week.

"Sure you can, Mione," Harry was always quick to agree.

But sure enough, the next time some young fool tried to pinch her arse Harry's fist was flying and Ron was holding the idiot down.

He'd never quite understood their bond, but he'd known enough to envy it. Not that they were romantically linked, no. In fact, the very notion was laughable. He knew she and Ron had tried their hand at dating, but they'd only lasted a mere week before calling it quits for their safety and the safety of others. Ron moved on to Luna three months later and they'd been together up until the day it happened.

No, they were like family. Brothers and sister, but also something more. They didn't need blood to bind them together, although Cedric knew they'd done a blood ritual once, slicing their palms open and holding hands as their blood mixed and they chanted in Latin. Such spells were borderline dark arts, but that hadn't stopped them. They each had a diagonal scar across both palms, and sometimes when they were lost in thought, they'd be rubbing at it as they looked at each other, talking with their eyes. And he never knew what they'd be saying.

He didn't envy the fact that they were close, only the fact that he knew he'd never be as close to her as they were. Sometimes it felt like she was racing far in front of him, but he couldn't keep up. He'd pitch himself forward, his fingertips just grazing her, but she'd pull out of his grasp. So close, yet so far away.

"For now," he murmured to the door although she could not hear him. "I'll leave it be, Hermione, but only for now."


	3. Staring Contests

_(A/N): This may be an abuse of the author note, but I can't bring myself to care...I've been starving for some good, COMPLETED Cedric and Hermione fics...PLEASE!!! ANYONE???_

_EVEN DARKNESS MUST PASS_

_Chapter 3_

As much as he was loath to admit it, Hermione _was_ able to shut him out. At least literally. Cedric was slouched against the wall opposite of her sanctuary and was thoughtfully engaged in a staring contest he was bound to lose. Doors did not blink, after all. As it was, he stubbornly remained, unmoving and uncaring of Ginny's sobs, Luna's airy voice, and Neville's reassuring tones.

This was not the first time, and unfortunately it would not be the last, Cedric had seen Hermione hovering at the edge only a hairsbreadth away from teetering over. Merlin's beard, she'd seen and done more in her first year than he had in his first five. She'd faced a three headed dog, been petrified, had gone back in time to rescue a wrongfully convicted felon…the list seemed to go on and on.

Lifting a shaky hand, Cedric ran his fingers through his hair, gripping his skull tightly as his head began to throb in earnest. At least he'd been there at the Ministry, not that he had stopped Dolohov's aim. Still, he'd been able to pull her to safety and protect her as the curses continued to fly. He'd been able to shield her body with his when he'd mistaken the arrival of the Order as more Death Eaters showing up to finish them off. It was in that moment as he curled himself over her small frame, his arms clutching her to him with bruising strength as his heart raged against the idea of _them_ touching her- that brief moment when all he could feel was regret that he'd never plucked up the courage to kiss her- that he knew he loved her.

That had been his seventh and last year at school and the separation from her after his graduation nearly killed him. He wrote to her during her sixth year, telling her that she was right in her concerns over Harry's new potion book, and that yes, Harry was acting like a great prat for not seeing reason. He met up with the three of them every Hogsmeade trip. Relief had filled him when it was Ron who had been poisoned, guilt following immediately afterwards at the thought. At least when the Death Eaters breeched the school's wards she'd spent the fight unconscious in a closet.

Cedric shook his head. Why couldn't she be locked away for every battle? Couldn't he just shut her up in his flat? She'd be safe there, he'd see to it. Sure, she'd be pissed afterwards, and rightly so, but he could live with her anger- he just couldn't live without her.

Her seventh year had been the worst. Bill and Fleur had sent him an invitation to their wedding and he'd been happy to go, content that he'd see her there. There was a part of him still, if he was honest, that saw Hermione as she'd been on that day- ribbons of sunlight in her curly hair, a ready smile for all around, and music in her laughter as he twirled her around in a lively dance. She had put the bride to shame.

He was loath to leave her side, but Fleur insisted on at least one dance with him. He'd twirled her around expertly, and when he happily returned her to her besotted husband, Cedric's eyes had immediately sought out Hermione. He'd found her with Harry and Ron, the three of them huddled together on the fringe of excitement. A trill of suspicion danced down his spine. They were up to something.

"We should wait until everyone falls asleep," Hermione was saying. "We don't want anyone to notice we're missing and ruin the party. This is supposed to be a happy occasion."

He had a sinking feeling he knew what they were talking about.

"The sooner we go the better," Harry persisted.

Ron was shaking his head. "I dunno, Harry. Is a couple hours gonna make that much of a difference?"

"Look, I know it's a shite time," Hermione glared and smacked his arm in warning for his language. Harry smiled at her, but it disappeared as he continued, "But the longer we wait the harder it'll be when we leave."

Fear gripped his heart and he spoke without even realizing it. "Not yet," Cedric said, his voice carrying a hint of desperation. "Don't leave."

Harry wanted to argue with him, but Cedric wasn't looking at the younger boy. His gray eyes were riveted on Hermione when he spoke. She looked so different from the girl he'd danced with. The sunlight still glinted on her hair, but it seemed duller than before. Her smile was fake and the music in her was muted.

"We told you about the horcruxes, Cedric," she said gently, her eyes refusing to meet his. "You agreed with us."

"I know," he said. The words seemed thick in his throat and he swallowed heavily. "But don't go- I know you have to, but not yet."

She began to fidget. "Maybe Harry's right. Maybe we should sneak out now while no one's watching. We'll send word to you while we're gone. You're to be our inside man, after all."

Teeth clenching, Cedric glared at the reminder. "I still think I should go with you."

"You can't," she said. "We need someone in the Order to keep in contact with, someone who knows what we'll be doing just in case anything goes wrong."

"You stay and I'll go instead."

She snorted. "Nonsense, Diggory."

He'd known she wouldn't agree- she hadn't the first dozen times he'd tried to convince her, nor the second dozen.

"It has to be this way. We have to leave," she said, her words sounding uncharacteristically soft with regret.

"But not yet," Harry broke in. He shot Cedric a look. "One more dance wouldn't hurt."

He danced with her three more songs before they departed.

He didn't see her again until nearly eight months after. He received the odd owl once a month or so that usually had only two words written: _We're fine_. That's all the news he ever received, but he was never more relieved than when he read those two simple words written in Hermione's neat hand.

On the eighth month, though, he received far more than an owl.

He had been home all of twenty minutes. His flat was strikingly bare even though he'd lived there for about two years. It wasn't a home to him so much as a place he slept. Most of his time was spent working at the Ministry, or over at headquarters. He had one bedroom, a comfortable couch, and a serviceable kitchen.

The faint pops of apparating reached him in his room.

"Hurry-!"

"I've got her- you go ahead!"

"It'll be alright- he'll know what to do-" and Ron burst into his bedroom, his robes rank, his hair a mess, and dirt smudging his cheeks.

"Ron!" he'd gasped, pulling his t-shirt down and trying not to fall in surprise.

"How good are your healing charms?" he asked, straight to business.

Cedric felt his mouth dry and his heart freeze. A terrible sense of premonition gripped him as he forced himself to ask, "What's happened?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but Harry was already behind him and shoving his way into the room, Hermione unconscious in his arms.

Cedric was at her side quicker than he could apparate. "What the bloody hell happened?" he was furious.

Hermione was set gently down on his bed, and even under such circumstances Cedric couldn't help a thrill of excitement seeing her there, her skin light against the yellow of his sheets. He studied her prone form. Her hair was knotted, her frame thinner than he'd last seen, and when Harry moved her shirt up to better attend her, Cedric froze upon seeing the blood.

"We got caught by Death Eaters," Ron was babbling. "They took us to Malfoy Manor. They locked me and Harry up, but Hermione-"

A powerful wave of magic swept the room and his eyes fell on Harry. The Boy-who-Lived was glaring angrily at the air, his fists clenched and body tense. "They wanted to know what we were doing. They decided Hermione would tell them. She didn't. They punished her. But she didn't talk."

It was amazing how much he was able to say in his short sentences.

Tortured. The word made him feel hollow. And not by just anyone, but a real master…Bellatrix Lestrange…

And yet even pale and bleeding on his bed was better than how she was now. Those wounds had been easy to heal. Cedric was brilliant at charms. He was well stocked in his healing potions. With a flick of the wrist he was able to take her pain away and ease her discomfort.

"Why is she still trembling?" he'd asked after dressing her wounds and cleaning her clothes.

Neither boy answered him immediately. Cedric looked up from Hermione's face, sensing their hesitation.

It was Harry who answered. "There's no potion to help with that, Ced," he whispered darkly.

Cedric's eyes widened as a memory of Harry flitted across his mind- writhing in the middle of the night after the third task, his body in the grips of painful aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse.

"They- They used _that_ on her?" Cedric asked, his jaw wobbling as incredulity and disgust warred within him.

He'd been horrified that someone could hurt her that way. Of course, it didn't surprise him that Death Eaters favored such a curse- he'd seen it in action, seen Harry himself battle the effects. But to see Hermione…beautiful, self-sacrificing Hermione who spoke up for House Elves and Centaurs alike. Sweet Hermione who would run herself ragged because she was so busy caring for everyone around her that she forgot to look after herself… how could anyone cause her harm?

"Cedric?"

Cedric snapped his gaze back down to the bed. Her eyes were open but filled with tears. Her voice was weak, barely audible, but also the most beautiful sound in the world to him.

"I'm here," he whispered, kneeling down and smoothing the hair out of her eyes.

She attempted a brave smile that disappeared as she gasped in pain. "Stay?" she asked.

His hand never ceased its tender movement through her hair. "Always," he promised. He gave her his most winning smile- the one that lit his eyes, emphasized his dimples and made girls' stomachs flutter.

She sniffed softly as her body shook again. "Cocky," she rasped, unimpressed with his grin.

He almost laughed. Leave it to Hermione to comfort him when she was the one in pain. "Rest now," he said, his smile fading.

Her eyelids drooped and another spasm made her gasp softly, the sound making Cedric's heart clench. "Don't leave…" she slurred, helpless to fight the sleep pulling at her.

"Never, Mine. I'll never leave you."

And he didn't leave. It was Hermione who left. He'd fallen asleep holding her hand. How long he slept, slumped in a conjured chair that did nothing for his posture, he didn't know. But when the fine light of the morning sun pierced his dreams and Cedric awoke, she was gone.

In their wake, they'd left another note. He saw it folded neatly on the pillow of his bed. _I'm Sorry_, Hermione had written on some scratch parchment, her hand shaky and sloppy.

He'd never been so furious. Hermione Granger was more elusive than the wind and Cedric Diggory was slowly going mad chasing after her. He'd never forgiven her for leaving like that, injured and sneaking out in the middle of the night.

"I knew you'd try to stop me," was her defense upon their reappearance into the wizarding world.

"You're bloody well right I would have!" he shouted, his face flushed in anger. "I would have tied you to my bed to keep you from leaving!"

Cedric watched as a light blush stained her cheeks and was confused until he realized what he'd just spoken. _I would have tied you to my bed_…

Amusement began to simmer behind his fury as he watched Hermione stutter, her eyes looking anywhere but him. "Well," she huffed, her cheeks brightening. "That just proves I made the right choice then!"

She was insufferably stubborn- if there was such a thing.

And as he stared at the bedroom door, Cedric rather thought there was. He blinked first, of course, and the staring contest was over. The heels of his hands dug into his tired eyes and rubbed. She was going to drive him insane.

"Here, you look like you need it."

A glass of butterbeer was shoved into his face and Cedric looked up to see Neville smiling crookedly.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his fingers curling around the cool glass and pressing it to his temple.

Neville sighed and plopped down next to him uninvited.

"Any luck with her?" he asked lowly, afraid Hermione would hear.

"Yes and no," Cedric said, resuming his staring at the door.

Neville shook his head. "Ginny shouldn't have spoken like that. She's upset is all. She wants to understand, but she can't."

Staring turned into glaring. "She's not the only one upset," Cedric snapped, immediately on the defensive.

"I know," Neville agreed. "But we should try to understand-"

Cedric nearly growled. "All I understand is that Hermione must have witnessed something horrific. She must have seen something so terrible to shut herself away from us- and all anyone is trying to do is make her relive it!"

Even as he spoke, Cedric knew that he himself was in that group. Disgust made his stomach cold.

"Maybe," he began again, his anger fading into sadness. "Maybe we're better off not knowing. Maybe she's trying to protect us."

"She's doing more harm than good if that's the case," Neville's words were just as heavy as his as he reaffixed his gaze on the closed door.

"Perhaps," Cedric conceded evasively.

"Ginny didn't really mean what she said," Neville cocked his head to look at Cedric.

Cedric sighed. "Yes she did, Longbottom. She probably didn't mean to hurt Hermione so much, but on some level, she meant what she said. You can't take words like that back."

"What do we do, Cedric?" Neville asked.

Cedric looked at the young man slouched beside him and for the first time, he was able to see a fraction of his own pain and desperation reflected in someone else. Neville was a decent bloke and Cedric wondered, as he had in the past, what had placed the boy in the house of lions and not Cedric's own den. His loyalty to his friends was overwhelming.

Shaking his thoughts, Cedric's posture sank deeper. "What _can_ we do, Neville?"

Neville looked thoughtful for a second before opening his mouth to answer. His words were lost when Ginny appeared beside them, her tears dry and her eyes wide in fear.

"Someone just apparated into the building," she said.

Cedric and Neville were on their feet instantly.

"Are you sure?" Neville asked.

Cedric went into the living room and his eyes focused on the glowing crystal on the mantle above the fireplace that announced that yes, someone had indeed apparated into the flat building. The flat itself was warded against apparition- Hermione had twisted the spells and runes to allow people to apparate out of their place, but never in. She couldn't ward the entire building, however, and Cedric had offered to charm the crystal to glow when someone apparated anywhere else in the building.

He did not need to here Ginny's affirmative answer to know she was right.

"Wands out," Cedric said.

Luna took her wand out from behind her ear, her wide eyes alert and watchful.

Ginny snatched her wand from the coffee table and stretched a shaky arm out to the door.

Neville pulled his from his pocket and daringly took a step closer to the front door, his wide frame partially shielding Luna and Ginny.

And Cedric positioned himself to where he could keep an eye on each door- one on the front door where who knows how many Death Eaters were about to break in, and the other on the door that remained sealed shut with Hermione thankfully behind it. His hand slipped under the left sleeve of his robe and pulled his wand out of his hidden holster.

_Please_, his mind was racing. _Please_ _don't let them find her. Let her stay safe_.

His palm was starting to feel slick, but his grip did not waver.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, slow and uneven. It didn't sound like more than one person. He heard them stop at the door. The handle twisted and the door swung open.

Hermione stumbled in, favoring her right leg, her hair frizzing out behind her in a sloppy ponytail.

"Bloody hell!" Neville gasped.

Ginny frowned. Luna smiled dazedly.

And Cedric was just plain confused.

There was a cut on her forehead, shallow, but bleeding profusely and she was wearing what Cedric knew to be her horcrux hunting clothes. She and Harry, with their muggle upbringing, saw the disadvantages of heavy robes while dueling. They'd convinced Ron to give up the bulky garments when they started their hunt, and instead they donned form fitting pants and shirts. They always wore black since they moved most often in the cover of night, and Cedric had joined them a few times since they became aurors and had witnessed first hand the practicality of the tight fitting clothes.

Hermione's shirt was torn on the left sleeve, but it still clung to her tightly. Her black pants were covered in was dirt or maybe dust. Her wand was pointed at them reflexively and once her eyes scanned each of their faces, ending on his, she began to lower it slightly.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I had an errand to run."

She closed the door, reset the wards, and headed back to the room.

"Wh-what?" Cedric stuttered.

And then his confusion was being replaced by anger as realization sunk in. She snuck out. The whole time he'd been seated across the bedroom door, worrying about her being huddled alone in there with nothing but her memories to drown in as she paced and wrote- she hadn't even been in the room.

"Why?" Cedric bit out, blocking her path to the room she attempted to flee to once again.

He saw a flash of surprise cross her eyes before it cleared and her gaze was carefully blank.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," she said, her shoulders squared defiantly.

"Why?" he asked again and there must have been something different in his tone or expression, because Hermione seemed to pause.

She shifted her weight and smothered a painful wince. Her eyes pinned him. "Because there's no one else who can," she answered softly. The words carried a soft hint of reprimanding in them as if her answer should have been obvious.

"No, Mine, that's not what I meant."

Hermione frowned. Cedric sighed. "Why won't you let me help you?"

He could almost hear the slam of the door as she locked her emotions away. "That's not your place," she said primly.

She tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm more roughly than he intended. She winced, and he instantly loosened his grip.

"But it can be," he said persuasively. "If you'll let it."

She looked shocked for some reason and Cedric wondered if maybe Harry and Ron were wrong. Maybe all of her playful flirting was just that- playful flirting. Perhaps there was nothing behind her blushing cheeks, nothing behind the soft touches and lingering glances. Maybe he really was just her backup date. Someone she spent time with only to avoid other men.

There was a sharp stabbing pain in his chest and Cedric fought the urge to grip it. It was a pain unlike anything he'd ever known. It was worse than his fear that night in the graveyard, beyond what he had felt in her hiatus during her seventh year. It felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest and he had to clutch at it if only to prevent the hole from growing.

He felt a gentle touch to his cheek and it was enough ease the pain slightly. Hermione was lightly tracing his cheekbone, a queer expression on her face. She wasn't quite smiling, but she wasn't frowning.

"Silly Cedric," she breathed, her hand caressing his cheek as if his pain was physical and she could soothe it away. "Always jumping to conclusions."

Before he could analyze what she meant, her hand was gone and she was past him. Like it was only an after thought she flicked her wand and Harry and Ron's door unsealed and opened for her. She closed it softly behind her.

His feet moved. He rushed to the door, his hand testing the knob.

But it was too late. She'd already locked him out.


End file.
